


Lose You

by Emily_F6



Series: Febuwhump 2020 [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Peter Parker, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Irondad, Protective Peter Parker, febuwhump 2020, spiderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23158732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emily_F6/pseuds/Emily_F6
Summary: When Tony and Peter are attacked, Peter must get them to safety.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Febuwhump 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664710
Comments: 2
Kudos: 232





	Lose You

"Mr. Stark!" Peter whispered, kneeling in the damp grass, ignoring the blood that dripped down his cheek and onto the grass beside the man's face. The moon shone so brightly that it was nearly light out, despite the fact that it was almost two in the morning, and although Peter was grateful to be able to see, he also knew that if he could see, other people could too. "Mr. Stark...please...Mr. Stark!"

The man stirred a little, groaning, and Peter had to fight the urge to shush him, reaching out instead and shaking his shoulder as carefully as he could. The man groaned again, prying his eyes open and looking up at Peter in the bright light of the moon. They needed to go, but Peter was afraid to move him. They were still being followed...the men that had already tried to kill them were still after them, and Mr. Stark didn't have his suit. Neither did Peter. Peter was strong but he couldn't take on all of them, not with their weapons, and not while protecting Mr. Stark.

They'd been on their way upstate.

Mr. Stark had pulled him out of an uneasy sleep only an hour and a half ago, shaking his shoulder so roughly that Peter had gasped awake, sitting up fast and looking around, only for the older man to hold up a finger to his mouth and shake his head. They'd been the only two staying at the tower, with Pepper on a business trip to Hong Kong and Rhodey in DC. Seeing the gesture, Peter had closed his mouth.

"We have to go. Grab a coat. Leave everything else."

Peter had narrowed his eyes, but had forced himself to just nod, throwing his legs over the bed and grabbing the coat hanging over the desk chair in his room in the tower. It had felt like a dream. Mr. Stark had tossed him a pair of socks, and he'd crammed his feet into shoes before following the man at a jog to the elevator, which took them to the underground garage. Mr. Stark had unlocked the car closest to them, and Peter had climbed in, still not asking any questions. It hadn't been until they had been pulling away from the tower and pulling out into the road that Peter had turned to him, curled up in the passenger seat. Mr. Stark had thrown him a tight smile, but had obviously been worried. But still, Peter hadn't asked.

Mr. Stark had waited until they'd been on the road to reach out, patting his shoulder, then giving it a firm squeeze. "Ross knows who you are. I got a call from Rhodey...that asshole sent guys to the tower...we need to get you somewhere safe."

Peter's blood had gone cold, and he'd felt the blood drain from his face. "What about May?"

"I just sent Happy to get her. He's taking her to a safe house. We just need a place to hide out until Rhodey meets us with a new car to take us to the safe house."

"So...where are we going?" Peter had asked, struggling to take it all in and still trying to shake the feeling that this was kind of surreal dream.

Tony had hesitated, then shook his head. "I'm not sure, kid. I just wanted to get out of the tower."

Peter had taken note of the fact that they were driving north and an idea had struck him. "Um...I might know somewhere we could go."

Mr. Stark had turned to him, eyebrows lifted. "Yeah?"

"My...um...my uncle's best friend had a cabin about an hour away from the city. They shared it, but it wasn't in my uncle's name or anything. We used to go fishing sometimes." Peter had shrugged. He hadn't wanted to go to the cabin ever again, not after Ben, but...if they needed a place to hide out, it might work.

Mr. Stark had thought for a long minute, then nodded. "Okay. Yeah. That might work. How do we get there?"

Peter had given him directions, and the man had nodded, squeezing Peter's shoulder once more before putting both hands on the wheel, looking in the rearview mirror, and then at the driver's side mirror. The man had continued to keep a close eye out while Peter had fought his own rapidly closing eyes. Every once in a while, the man had patted his knee or ruffled his hair, telling him that he could rest as soon as they made it to the cabin.

They'd almost made it.

The cars had come out of nowhere, causing the crash that had slammed Peter's head into the window, and almost instantly, Mr. Stark had been unbuckling his seatbelt, touching Peter's face. "Pete? Kiddo, look at me. Are you okay?"

They'd hit a tree. It had taken Peter a second to notice, but then he'd seen the airbags and smelled them, and seen the tree and the crumpled hood.

"Peter!"

"Mr. Stark?"

"Come on, buddy. We have to get out of here!"

Neither of them had had their suits. That had been Peter's first thought as Mr. Stark had half-dragged him out of the car through the driver's side door, the two of them racing into the forest as the sound of gunshots had followed them. Peter had reached out, grabbing Mr. Stark's hand, and pulling him to run faster as they'd made their way into the forest. They hadn't been too far from the cabin, Peter had been sure of it, and he was fast and strong...strong enough to pull Mr. Stark along and his senses had helped him avoid as many leaves and twigs as possible, and they'd been gaining ground, getting further away from the men who had been chasing with their guns drawn…

And then Mr. Stark had collapsed.

The man blinked up at him in the moonlight, eyes dull and unfocused, then lifted a weak, uncoordinated hand to touch Peter's face. "Bud...you're bleeding…" He slurred a little, and Peter brought his finger to his lips, shushing him this time.

"We have to be quiet!" He hissed, looking up to make sure no one was nearby, although his senses were relatively quiet. He could still hear those men, though. Could still feel them close by. Peter knelt down a little closer to the ground, trying to stay low and out of sight. All around them were trees and thorn bushes and he knew that if he could just get Mr. Stark back on his feet, he could get them to the cabin. Maybe they'd be safe there.

His uncle's friend had kept a gun in the cabin.

Peter peered down at his mentor who had let his hand drop, eyes fluttering shut. Right above his knee was a growing dark patch, with a hole in the center. His head was bleeding too, and Peter thought he must have hit it during the wreck. "Mr. Stark?" He asked again, shaking him a little, but this time the man didn't stir, and Peter pressed his fingers to Mr. Stark's wrist. His pulse was too fast, fluttering under Peter's fingertips. "Mr. Stark? Please." He begged, shaking Mr. Stark's shoulder once more, but the man was still. Peter dropped his head, blowing out an exhausted breath, then reached under his shoulders and his knees, lifting the man who, thanks to his enhanced strength, weighed next to nothing.

And then Peter started running in what he hoped was the right direction, clutching Mr. Stark as tightly as he could so he wouldn't jostle him too much. The moon was too bright, and Peter was sure with every footstep that they would be shot down, but Peter didn't see another person as he ran, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. To step on as few twigs as possible in the pouring rain. Mr. Stark's head bobbed as he ran, and Peter tried to ease his head onto his shoulder without slowing down.

Even running as quickly as he could, it took almost half an hour to reach the familiar road that led to the cabin. Peter ran alongside it, staying in the cover of the trees and bushes, finally bursting out just as he reached the door. It was locked, of course, but Peter knew where the spare key was. He knelt down, placing Mr. Stark down in the doorway, flinching when his head fell back against the door. "Sorry, sorry," he whispered, then hurried over to the side of the cabin, looking through the decorative rocks until he found the one with the key on the bottom.

Once he had Mr. Stark inside, he nudged the door shut, locked the door, and placed the man on the sofa, racing into the other room to get the first aid kit his uncle had kept in the bathroom. It wasn't much...just barely enough to patch up a normal cut, but Peter would have to make due.

With shaking hands, he placed the kit at Mr. Stark's side and grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen, cutting away the fabric around the bullet wound. There was no exit wound, and Peter looked up at Mr. Stark, at his slack face and the bloody cut at his hairline, and he grabbed the tweezers from the kit.

He didn't let himself look around the cabin. He didn't let himself remember himself and Ben on this same sofa, eating the fish they'd caught only hours before frying it. He didn't let himself think about how they'd played hide-and-seek in these woods and built LEGO sculptures at the table and told each other ghost stories in home-made blanket forts. Peter just stared at the man's leg and zeroed in on the bullet wound. He had to get the bullet out or he might lose yet another father figure.

As soon as Peter placed the tweezers inside the wound with a single minded focus, Mr. Stark screamed, and Peter reached up without thought clamping his hand over his mouth. "Shh...I'm sorry...shhh!" He begged, unable to help noticing the heat coming off of his face. "Shh...I have to get it out. I'm sorry!" And, with tears streaming down his face, Peter dug as carefully as he could, with one hand, clamping down hard on Mr. Stark's mouth with the other, easily absorbing the weak clawing and occasional hit from Mr. Stark's flailing hands.

Steady, Peter told himself. Steady. He had to do this. Had to get the bullet out. Nothing else mattered. And then, after what felt like hours, he had it, pulling straight up and removing the bullet, dropping it on the floor. Sweat dripped down his back and mixed with the rainwater that had soaked him to the bone, and he shuddered with the cold he hadn't felt yet, but it didn't matter. Not yet. He had to help Mr. Stark. He rummaged through the kid, grabbing the bottle of alcohol and, clamping his hand over Mr. Stark's mouth once more, he dumped some of it into the wound, flinching hard at the muffled scream.

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry," he whispered, unable to see for the tears pouring from his eyes. The man on the sofa sobbed, his own tears running down his face, and it was Peter's fault. "It's over...the bad part...it's over. I'm sorry. I had to clean it. I'm so sorry."

The man didn't respond, only relaxed onto the sofa, eyes rolling back, face falling lax. Meanwhile, Peter placed several gauze pads against the wound and wrapped it with white bandages as best he could, then stepped back, staring at the man for a second.

"Mr. Stark?" He asked again, tears he couldn't stop still falling. "Mr. Stark, please…"

No response.

Leaving him for just a second, Peter ran into the kitchen, grabbing a dusty glass, rinsing it out, then filling it with tap water. His uncle's friend had told him that he could use the cabin any time after Ben had died, and he knew that the older man still used it sometimes, so they had a generator to power the mini fridge and space heater, and they could get water, but that was about it. Grabbing an ibuprofen from the bottle by the sink and hoping it wasn't expired, he dissolved it into the water, then carried the glass to the sofa. Slipping a hand under the back of his head and tilting it up, Peter held the glass to his lips and tilted it. Thankfully, the man swallowed reflexively without choking, and Peter managed to get him to swallow almost a quarter of the glass. He pressed his hand against the back of Mr. Stark's forehead again.

Still hot. Too hot.

Searching the closet, Peter pulled out an oversized shirt and began the difficult and somewhat awkward process of yanking Mr. Stark's shirt off, then dressing him in a dry one and covering him with a blanket. And that was all he could do.

Did Rhodey know where they were? Had Mr. Stark been able to tell him?

Peter sat down in his still-wet clothes, reaching over and turning the space heater on but leaving the lamp beside the sofa off, closing his eyes and resting his head against the side of the sofa. Above him, Mr. Stark lay dead to the world, and Peter wiped his face, sniffing and trying to stop the tears. Rhodey would come. Rhodey had to come. He would come with the War Machine armor and he would save them and...Peter's eyes flew open when his senses gave a buzz of warning. Jumping to his feet, he raced into the tiny bedroom, which held only a full sized bed, and opened the closet once more, this time reaching down and pulling out the gun safe. Keying in the code, he pulled out the loaded 9 millimeter pistol, flinching at the weight of the cold metal in his hands.

The gun was loaded, safety off. Ben had always told him that, face serious. "Peter, if you pick up that gun, remember that it's hot. Ready to shoot."

Taking up his post once more by the sofa, he listened cocking the gun and pointing it at the door. If they tried to come in...if they tried to take him or hurt Mr. Stark...he'd…he'd do it. He'd stop them. No matter what it took. In this cabin, surrounded by reminders of Ben that he tried so hard to ignore, Peter was not about to lose someone else.

Peter must have sat there for almost two hours. There was no clock, he wasn't wearing his watch, and his phone was back at the tower. But it felt like hours, and there was just a hint of sunlight outside. More than once, he'd heard footsteps, and he'd lifted his arms a little higher, waiting. Shaking. Crying. And every few minutes, he'd look back at Mr. Stark who lay pale and still on the sofa. He'd wiped his head with a damp cloth, cleaning away the blood, but Mr. Stark hadn't even stirred. Peter was freezing, but he didn't dare leave his post by the sofa, sure that if he did, the door would be kicked in and...and then he'd have to...Peter shook his head, refusing to think about it.

As the sun was rising, he placed his hand on Mr. Stark's forehead, wincing at the heat, and the man groaned, opening glazed eyes to look up at him. "Pep?" He slurred.

"Mr. Stark? It's...it's me. It's Peter...sir? Are you okay?"

"Pete?" He repeated, and Peter felt tears stream down his own cheeks, making his vision blur.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me."

"Hey, bud," Mr. Stark tried to smile, reaching up once more, reaching up to touch Peter's cheek. "Wha's wro…?"

"I...I can't lose you. Please...please not you too," Peter whispered from his spot at Mr. Stark's side, knees aching, whole body shaking. He still felt damp from the rain despite the space heater. "Please...everyone else…my dad and Ben…" He closed his eyes, leaning into Mr. Stark's warm hand, and the man rubbed a thumb under his eye, wiping away one of the hundreds of tears that was immediately replaced. "Not you too."

"It's okay, Pete…" Mr. Stark trailed off, hand dropping, and Peter sobbed, dropping his head onto the man's stomach. "Don't...don't cry…"

When Peter looked up at him again, the man's eyes were shut, and when he lifted his eyelids, all he could see were the whites of his eyes. "Mr. Stark...please... " He whispered, shaking him a little. "Please...please don't leave me."

Resting his head on Mr. Stark's stomach one more time, he tried to stop crying. Tried to think of a plan. But all he could feel was the heat from his body and the heavy, cold metal of the gun in his hand and the sounds of the forest around them...the soft hum of the generator. "Please." He whispered, closing his eyes and shivering in the cold. "Please...please don't leave me."

Peter must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, the door was being kicked in, and he jumped upright, swinging around and pointing the gun at…

Steve Rogers and Colonel Rhodes.

"Easy, son." Steve urged, hands up, but Rhodey rushed over, kneeling beside him and, shooting Mr. Stark a look, he reached out, putting a hand on Peter's arm, ignoring the gun.

"Pete? Are you okay?"

"I tried...I tried to help him," Peter whispered, and Rhodey moved his hand down to the gun, gently removing it from Peter's hands.

"You did. You helped him, Peter. He's gonna be fine. Steve? Can you get Tony to the car?"

Steve gave a quick nod, and Rhodey got an arm around Peter and pulled him to his feet, leading him toward the door.

"But...they were shooting at us and…" Peter startled, balking, but Rhodey just patted his back.

"Don't worry, kid. They're long gone. Come on. We're going to get the both of you to the safe house. And we need to get you some new clothes. You're soaked. May and Pepper are waiting." Peter glanced back at Mr. Stark, limp in Steve's arms, but Rhodey urged him forward. "Come on, Pete."

"Is he okay?" He asked, looking back one more at Mr. Stark. Rhodey nodded, pulling him forward once more.

"He's going to be fine…"

"He and May...they're all I have." He whispered, meeting Rhodey's eyes with his own wet ones. "I can't...I can't lose him too…"

"Hey," Rhodey put a hand on the side of his face, moving in close so Peter had to look at him. "Tony's going to be fine. Don't worry. You did a good job. You found a place to hide. Now we're going to get him to a doctor, okay?"

Peter nodded, wiping sheepishly at his eyes, but Rhodey didn't let go.

"And...I know it's not the same, but you've got me too, Pete. And Steve. Nat. All of us. We've got you, Pete." Pulling Peter into a warm hug, Rhodey rubbed his back as Peter felt something in him break, and he sobbed into Rhodey shoulder until the man somehow got him to the car where he promptly fell asleep.


End file.
